Big John may have been onto something when he gave his kids lessons in how to close a door quietly. In this house there are more multiple entrances and exits than a half decent French farce.
I however, appear to be alone in my ability to come and go without rocking the whole house.
Thursday 31 March 2011
Tuesday 29 March 2011
Festival Fever
The 2011 Palmers Green Festival is on the 3rd July. It’s great-fun-for-all-the-family. Put it in your diary. I’m helping out with it and it’s for charidee. Before domestic bliss took over I worked in PR, way back when social networking was but a tiny twinkle in the eye of some geek. I therefore lay no claim as any sort of social media expert. But I did put the Festival on Facebook and emailed other volunteers. Here’s what I’m working with:
- I haven’t responded on Facebook as I don’t know how! Can you show me how? I have a few friends.
- What’s facebook?
- You can’t do facebooktube? I’ve progressed to mugmag, so much better, it’s for older people.
- I’ve never heard of Facebooktube or mugmag (which sounds like something us muggles would use)
- I think I have 3 friends on fartbook and one of them is an axe murderer in America who has the same name as a friend of mine.
- Help! Someone wants to be my friend.
And all so soon after this exchange:
- Trying to get facebook on my phone. How do I do it?
- Try putting a phonebook on your face. It’s easier.
Woo hoo for the wonders of the modern world.
- I haven’t responded on Facebook as I don’t know how! Can you show me how? I have a few friends.
- What’s facebook?
- You can’t do facebooktube? I’ve progressed to mugmag, so much better, it’s for older people.
- I’ve never heard of Facebooktube or mugmag (which sounds like something us muggles would use)
- I think I have 3 friends on fartbook and one of them is an axe murderer in America who has the same name as a friend of mine.
- Help! Someone wants to be my friend.
And all so soon after this exchange:
- Trying to get facebook on my phone. How do I do it?
- Try putting a phonebook on your face. It’s easier.
Woo hoo for the wonders of the modern world.
Sunday 27 March 2011
Annoying Repeats
Repeating what someone is saying to you is as irritating to one party as amusing to the other.
Saturday 26 March 2011
Doggy Doldrums Disaster
Recently, the dog went to Supersis whilst we holidayed. The dog was not happy, for there she is treated like a dog. Whereas here, we allow behaviour befitting of royal lineage. We left instructions: the Lady Gaga collar, to prevent self harming, was to be removed under supervision. But Supersis is not known as Supersis for no reason. And, she has years on me on the dog experience front. ‘Tis an actual fact, despite her self-styled introductions as my younger sister, that Supersis has more years on me full stop.
As is her want, Supersis monitored the dog. Closely. And she researched. A lot. So now she’s bragging another feather in her cap: that of dog psychologist. Caesar Milan beware! I knew it wasn’t doggy eczema and I know that dog care moved, somewhat, further down the daily to do list in recent months. According to Supersis, aided by her vast animal care library and Dr t’net, the dog is displaying signs of an obsessive compulsive disorder. Separation anxiety is one known cause. ‘Tis also a fact that the problem worsened just as my relationship status changed to single. In conclusion we can safely add, again, to the queer fella’s fault list: destroyer of dog psyche.
Supersis has a stategy and a plan. She dispensed with the Lady Gaga collar, for the dog was obsessively licking that. And it was very annoying when it got you on the back of the legs, or when you were wearing a skirt. Supersis is on prototype number 9 of the leg shields, whilst rehabilitating the dog into a different behaviour pattern: no mention of the legs, lots more stimulation, more mixing with the other dogs, and discouraging the aloof princess trick. The self harmer actually prefers the company of the cat (the one that thinks it’s a dog, not the psycho screecher ). Supersis’s strategy is largely working, in that the dog will now only get at her legs when she can hide. As life has proved to me again and again, ‘tis impossible to hide much from Supersis for any real length of time. On the up the dog is now grooming herself again, even if she did pick that one up from the cat. And she no longer stares at the radiator, well not much anyways. She’s not a stupid dog. When Supersis is about the dog is a dog.
So now I have a dog with a mental disorder. Which is just what was missing from my life. We are all on a guilt trip. But at least we have visitation rights. I miss the dog. My waist line misses the exercise. I’m not missing clearing up dog shit, or moult, but wonder will we ever get her back?
More worryingly, if that’s the impact on the dog, what hope for the lids?
As is her want, Supersis monitored the dog. Closely. And she researched. A lot. So now she’s bragging another feather in her cap: that of dog psychologist. Caesar Milan beware! I knew it wasn’t doggy eczema and I know that dog care moved, somewhat, further down the daily to do list in recent months. According to Supersis, aided by her vast animal care library and Dr t’net, the dog is displaying signs of an obsessive compulsive disorder. Separation anxiety is one known cause. ‘Tis also a fact that the problem worsened just as my relationship status changed to single. In conclusion we can safely add, again, to the queer fella’s fault list: destroyer of dog psyche.
Supersis has a stategy and a plan. She dispensed with the Lady Gaga collar, for the dog was obsessively licking that. And it was very annoying when it got you on the back of the legs, or when you were wearing a skirt. Supersis is on prototype number 9 of the leg shields, whilst rehabilitating the dog into a different behaviour pattern: no mention of the legs, lots more stimulation, more mixing with the other dogs, and discouraging the aloof princess trick. The self harmer actually prefers the company of the cat (the one that thinks it’s a dog, not the psycho screecher ). Supersis’s strategy is largely working, in that the dog will now only get at her legs when she can hide. As life has proved to me again and again, ‘tis impossible to hide much from Supersis for any real length of time. On the up the dog is now grooming herself again, even if she did pick that one up from the cat. And she no longer stares at the radiator, well not much anyways. She’s not a stupid dog. When Supersis is about the dog is a dog.
So now I have a dog with a mental disorder. Which is just what was missing from my life. We are all on a guilt trip. But at least we have visitation rights. I miss the dog. My waist line misses the exercise. I’m not missing clearing up dog shit, or moult, but wonder will we ever get her back?
More worryingly, if that’s the impact on the dog, what hope for the lids?
Tuesday 15 March 2011
I've got a feeling
Feels like spring: this week the sun shone for more than a minute, on more than two days; the biting cold is in retreat; the garden is budding and, I’ve been writing. All good stuff. Not like that long cold winter that lasted for ever: like the devilish detail of the divorce process.
The best thing about being nearly single is making your own rules. Not that I didn’t before, but now I have the joy of not arguing with anyone about my latest fad. I’ve a strong desire to suggest a weekly fancy dress dinner to the dustbin lids but know it’ll be met with those rolling eyes and tutting that the teenagers have off to perfection. After watching the world’s strictest parents, am thinking dictatorial might be next week’s preferred parenting style. Can you dictate fancy dress?
We’ve expanded. The sensible ‘one in, one out’ malarkey is not for us. Firstly, with one, then two, small furry creatures. Not by my choice: an all night mouse-watch and the rat-trapped-in-the-chimney shenanigans are too vivid in my memory to choose anything involving small creatures. My first error of judgement was leaving the little-un with the uncle with more animals than sense. The second was to let Teengirl’s pet envy get the better of her. So now two little furry rodent ladies, of the not terribly sociable persuasion, live in separate cages in the dining room (sensible, really, when you think about it, the separate bit not the dining room). And, don’t the two ugly smelly cages fit in, oh so well, with this year’s de-cluttering resolution.
Yet, despite my natural mistrust, fear and hatred of small furry things, as far as rodents go, hamsters aren’t that bad. I almost warmed to their cute little face washing thing. Until they got comfortable. And their nocturnal habits kicked in. I knew hamsters liked to run. But through the night? Every night? On torturously squeaky wheels? Neither WD40 nor soap helps. Ear plugs seem to do the trick.
With two sisters and three female pets, Teenboy bemoaned this all female house. Luckily my favourite nephew is staying whilst finding his Londoner feet. Having another lad in the house adds to the interest, if also to the amount of footy found on the box and the volume of food consumed.
As for the sad case of the self-harming dog, Supersis is, thankfully, on the case.
On the laundry front, I’m the owner of another new washing machine, as I’m yet to find one that copes with our laundry past the warranty period. Boo hoo.
Woo hoo for the end is nigh for the ever-lasting mobile contract (‘tis easier to exit a marriage than such things) meaning the very latest whiz-bang of a small shiny feat of design and cool technology is soon to be within my grasp.
Spring is sprung. The sun has shone. Life's grand really.
The best thing about being nearly single is making your own rules. Not that I didn’t before, but now I have the joy of not arguing with anyone about my latest fad. I’ve a strong desire to suggest a weekly fancy dress dinner to the dustbin lids but know it’ll be met with those rolling eyes and tutting that the teenagers have off to perfection. After watching the world’s strictest parents, am thinking dictatorial might be next week’s preferred parenting style. Can you dictate fancy dress?
We’ve expanded. The sensible ‘one in, one out’ malarkey is not for us. Firstly, with one, then two, small furry creatures. Not by my choice: an all night mouse-watch and the rat-trapped-in-the-chimney shenanigans are too vivid in my memory to choose anything involving small creatures. My first error of judgement was leaving the little-un with the uncle with more animals than sense. The second was to let Teengirl’s pet envy get the better of her. So now two little furry rodent ladies, of the not terribly sociable persuasion, live in separate cages in the dining room (sensible, really, when you think about it, the separate bit not the dining room). And, don’t the two ugly smelly cages fit in, oh so well, with this year’s de-cluttering resolution.
Yet, despite my natural mistrust, fear and hatred of small furry things, as far as rodents go, hamsters aren’t that bad. I almost warmed to their cute little face washing thing. Until they got comfortable. And their nocturnal habits kicked in. I knew hamsters liked to run. But through the night? Every night? On torturously squeaky wheels? Neither WD40 nor soap helps. Ear plugs seem to do the trick.
With two sisters and three female pets, Teenboy bemoaned this all female house. Luckily my favourite nephew is staying whilst finding his Londoner feet. Having another lad in the house adds to the interest, if also to the amount of footy found on the box and the volume of food consumed.
As for the sad case of the self-harming dog, Supersis is, thankfully, on the case.
On the laundry front, I’m the owner of another new washing machine, as I’m yet to find one that copes with our laundry past the warranty period. Boo hoo.
Woo hoo for the end is nigh for the ever-lasting mobile contract (‘tis easier to exit a marriage than such things) meaning the very latest whiz-bang of a small shiny feat of design and cool technology is soon to be within my grasp.
Spring is sprung. The sun has shone. Life's grand really.
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